


When I'm Gone

by lookafterlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookafterlou/pseuds/lookafterlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry feels that there is only one way to escape his misery, so one night, he swallows a handful of pills, ending his life. How will he react when he sees how his death effects each of his band mates?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I'm Gone

I stood in front of the mirror, starring at the stranger I had become. On the outside, I didn’t look any different; I was still the curly haired teenage boy that took over the world with his four best mates. It was on the inside that I had changed. I was empty. I had somehow turned into a shell of myself. 

I had nothing left to live for, or rather nothing worth living for. On the outside, I had it all. I had the fame, fortune, awards, everything. But they always say none of that matters unless you have someone you truly loved to share it with. And I loved Louis more than anything in the world. And I couldn’t have him, so nothing truly mattered.   
Yes, I loved Louis. And not love as in; I blush when he gives me a compliment, or smile when he sends me a text. No, love as in I have trouble breathing when he was around. When I’m around him, it’s like we’re the only two people in the room. Everything else blurs when he’s around. I spend nights just dreaming of him, and what could be. It’s a kind of love that leaves an endless ache in my chest, because no matter what I feel for him, he’ll never feel the same way. Because he’s straight, and I’m his best mate, and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’d somehow managed through these feelings, until a year ago, when my mother passed away.   
No matter how hard I tried to hide it, Louis knew I was upset about my mother’s death. He spent a good two weeks comforting me, making sure I was okay. He would greet me every morning with a loving hug, and a cup of tea, asking me if I was okay, or if I needed to talk, then—after I rejected his offer—he’d remind me that he was always there if I needed him. He did everything he could to try and cheer me up. After my mother’s funeral, he held me while I cried, he whispered loving words into my ear, and rubbed my back. He held me until I woke up the next morning to find myself still entangled in his arms.   
That’s when this whole depression started… because I couldn’t the have two things that meant more to me than anything else. 

The bottle of pills sat on the counter that surrounded the sink. I grabbed the bottle in my hand and opened it with trembling hands. I had to do this. I needed out of this pain, and this seemed to be the only way. What was the point of living if I was this unhappy? Was life really worth anything if I was suffering this much?   
I shook a bunch of the pills into my palm, and stared at them for a moment.   
This is it, I thought to myself, as a popped the pills one by one into my mouth, swallowing them each of them down with water. It wasn’t too long before the world went black. 

The next thing I remember is waking up in a white room. No sounds, not light, no nothing, just white. I assumed I was dead, which left me feeling slightly relieved. That was my plan after all. It was the only logical explanation. I stood up off the ground, and began looking around. If I was dead, why was I sent here? All this was, was an empty room. If I was really dead, wouldn’t I be sent to heaven? Well, probably hell, considering everything. Maybe this was an in-between or something. I didn’t know.   
“Harry…” I heard a voice behind me. It sounded breathless and full of disbelief. I whipped around to see my mother.  
“Harry, what did you do?” she asked me with sad eyes. I swallowed thickly. Even in heaven, if that’s where I was in the first place, explaining to your mother why you wanted to end your life is heart wrenching. How do you explain to your own mother, the woman who raised you and loved you unconditionally, the one whose mission was making you happy, that you wanted to take your own life. I couldn’t do it. It would break her heart. And I didn’t want that. I guess I should’ve known that when I saw my mother in the afterlife—if I saw her—I’d owe her an explanation.   
“I just… I just couldn’t handle it anymore… I had to…” I explained to her, looking down at the white floor. She sighed heavily, which only made my guilt grow.   
“Did you even think about the boys?” she asked, in a soft, yet stern tone.   
“Of course I did!” I protested, snapping my head up to look at her, “They’d be fine without me…” I told her, looking back down at the ground.  
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, looking back up at her.   
“You’ll see,” she said, grabbing my hand.


End file.
